Living Steel: The Delta String
by Janizary
Summary: Living Steel/Rhand: 2349 - A string of one-shots involving ISS "Group G", the development of the Delta weapon, and paths crossed with Operation Seven Swords group 63.
1. Chapter 1 - Pressure

**A/N:**(long, sorry) The string to follow is somewhat disjointed, as each was originally meant as a 'teaser' giving some insight into details that were being uncovered relating to the OSS11/OSS63 encounters with agents/factors of a man knows as "Farrier", and the dire connection between a faction of the ISS and certain SCAN rouge elements. (Again, my own creative license in deviating from any source material)

Farrier, Orona, and most critically, Delta, relate to a string of events which started with the OSS11 Ops Group attracting the attention of a group of 'bad guys', which later led to observation of activities near OSS63, a botched recovery mission aimed at survivors of OSS11, the 'cleansing' of SR46, and the raid on AirSub10. Each of these events—as well as certain events unrelated to either OSS group—put information, resources, and certain key technical data into the hands of Farrier and his associates.

At this point in the timeline, the players of OSS11/63 have some rough idea of what Farrier and his SCAN associates were pursuing relevant to the infected Imperial 'Hounds'. At this point, however, the players have only seen the aftermath of the 'Delta Event' (to follow in later parts). And the final section that I'll put down here later is 'forward looking', a glimpse of "what could be" and was sent to select players to keep their interest high, during a lull in our ability to meet regularly.

Disclaimer: (1) If you don't know Living Steel this will probably be way, way out of context. (2) I make no ownership claims nor recieve any profit from LEG, Living Steel, Phoenix Command, etc. However, I have 17 combat actions, a DRGN suit, and an SAR-8. That's more than 4 actions per impulse. Rawr. (see, context...)

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"Increase pressure by eight percent."

The nervous tech siting at the interface console quickly adjusted the controls to the requested level, "Pressure adjusted by zero-eight percent, sir," the young woman stated, a slight tremor in her voice, "the subject's bio-signs are high, but within safety limits."

The stone-faced man standing behind her gave no indication that he had heard her, instead continuing to stare at the observation screen labeled "PRESSURE TUBE D-INTERIOR VIEW". His browns knitted as he watched the display, which depicted a tall blond man, devoid of clothing, in a cold, hard metal chamber. The man in the chamber seemed to be in some amount of pain as he moved about the small room pressing his palms to his ears.

"Open the I-Link to the chamber," stated the man behind the tech.

"I-Link open sir," replied the tech, risking a quick glance at her superior. He was a man of medium height, perhaps six feet, and not unattractive in a hard-edged manner. His Armani Dencia triple-breasted suit was spotless and very appealing. The SCAN-SecCOM ID badge he wore read: FARRIER, N. F., LT. CMDR.

It was not his appearance that made the tech nervous, but his demeanor. Hallie—that was her name, Hallie Schrager—had always felt good about reading people. Friends often asked her opinion about this guy or that guy; they trusted her intuition. Farrier was different, however. From him she got nothing. _Like being in the room with a synthetic_, she thought with a try at self-assuring mirth.

As Hallie looked back at the bio-monitoring equipment, Farrier addressed the man within the chamber, "Hello Mr. Blake. How are you feeling today?" he asked with false concern in his voice. To Hallie, it sounded an alien thing to come from his mouth.

The man within the chamber looked about until he spotted the location of the observation pickup. "Farrier? You bastard!" he shouted in anger as he moved closer to the vid unit, "You can't do this to me! You bastard. I told you the damn truth; you've used the drugs! You gotta' believe me, dammit!"

Farrier lips stretched in a cold, dark smile, "Mr. Blake under normal circumstances I would be inclined to believe you, however, the circumstances of your egress from the target zone act to possibly taint your testimony."

"Farrier you can't possibly believe…"

"Mr. Blake," Farrier interrupted smoothly, "you are a field agent; look at what I face: Primus, one rouge telepath with an estimated Psi rating of over 250 who somehow maintains mental dominance over an estimated one-to-two thousand VISR infected individuals. The implications of that alone should give pause."

Hallie jerked slightly as Farrier placed his hand on her shoulder, leaning closer to the display screen. It was not a gesture of friendship, comfort, or camaraderie; she was just a convenient prop, like a stool. He continued, "Secundus: Within hours after you leave the target zone, I receive confirmed reports that my remaining agents there have been captured and/or eliminated. Your timing is…complicated."

"Tertius, and most damning for you, Blake: My Hounds confirm undeniably that you have been in some form of empathic contact with my lost pet, Warrant Officer Scott. This makes you a potential liability."

Blake could be seen looking at the vid in stark disbelief. He looked around the chamber, perhaps seeking some manner of exodus that he might have already missed. "You…you trust those freaks…over me?" he asked, a sick tone in his voice. "I've been with you for_ years_!"

Farrier leaned back away from the display, a perturbed look on his face, "And for that I do truly regret what I must do. A good tool is not something I throw away lightly." He turned slightly to look at the tech, "Increase pressure another sixteen percent and begin recording."

Hallie's hands moved smoothly over the control pads, adjusting and compensating for changes in the chamber environment, "Affirmative sir, pressure adjusted one-six percent. The subjects bio-signs are at nine-four percent and rising."

Inside the chamber the man, Blake, could be seen alternately beating his hands against the door and pressing them against his ears, howling incoherently. Blood could be seen to trickle from his nose and ears and was now smeared on the chamber door.

"Six point five percent Mr. Schrager," said Farrier, cold, hard.

Hallie again adjusted the settings and watched as Blake's Bio signs went red across the board, "Zero-six point five sir," she replied looking away from the gore-drenched thing on the display. "Internal hemorrhaging has commenced, systemic collapse in approximately six-eight seconds."

"Increase pressure by one percent per second Mr. Schrager. Set the system to automatic shut down, and alert Dr. Orona to collect his specimen," Farrier said coolly as he turned and began to walk from the room. "Have a copy of this vid with full Med-scan sent to my quarters…and Mr. Schrager?" He stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at the tech, his eyebrow raised.

Hallie swiveled her chair to face Farrier, something catching in her throat, "Yes sir?" She asked, voice trembling with trepidation.

"I've scanned the reports and see that you have failed to report for your P-testing," he said, a wolfish smile spreading across his visage. "You will report to Dr. Tanachi and Warrant Officer Victors after you are finished here." He slowly turned, exiting the room, "And Mr. Schrager?" His voice ghosted back into the control room, "I will be checking to see that you comply."

Hallie, pale and trembling, turned back to the display just in time to see Blake's body begin to compress and cavitate, visceral gore squirting through ruptures in his flesh. The scanners dutifully informed her that Blake was dead…_and so am I_, she thought in helpless terror.

(PartII soon)

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**End Notes:**

AS - Air Subcon

AS10 - Air Sub 10 - located in eastern Elandia in proximity of SR46

ISS - Imperial Secret Service

OSS - Operation Seven Swords

OSS11 - Level 3 Operations Hub based the Isle of Grus

OSS63 - Operations group 63 based near SR46

OSS64 - Operations group 64 based near AS10

S4 - Seven Swords Special Service

SCAN - SCAN Medical Technologies Inc. - A Starguild corporation with significant operations on Rhand, Matrix and Chemex.

SR - Small Resort

SR46 - Small resort 46 - Starcaste beach house resort located in eastern Elandia

VISR - Virally Induced Sociopathic Response


	2. Chapter 2 - Delta Rising

**A/N:** The two 'clips' below were very short teasers attached to emails sent the group. More mystery as the group tried to ascertain just 'what' their shadowy opponents were working on. Again, at this point they had some idea of what might be going on, so the information given was just giving 'flesh to fantasy' as it were, rather than giving anything away.

**Disclaimers:** I'm cold. And there are wolves chasing me. (And I don't own or make any pesos off of this drabble)

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Holo icons and flashing graphics depicted what the Doctor already knew: Another failed attempt.

"Shut it down," called the man dressed in blue surgical scrubs. "Shut it down and run a full level 2 diagnostic and bio-scan on the remains."

"Yes, Doctor Orona," said a middle-aged med-tech as she moved to a scanner control console. "Shall I have the results sent to your office?"

"Yes, Susan, thank you," Orona replied with a try at an approving smile, as he paused to log out on a security console. "And can you post my surgical notes to the main office?"

Doctor Orona didn't wait for a reply as he exited the room. He was puzzled, very puzzled. Six failures in 36 hours, and by all accords they should have worked, he thought in rising irritation as he stepped from the SCC (surgical control center) and into the access corridor. Once again the cloned tissues had not sustained a neural signature for more than 2 minutes. For perhaps the thousandth time in the last two days he pondered heavily, _what could be the problem?_

Orona pulled a small device from his belt, thumbed a switch, and began speaking, "Tissue reconstruction test 01837A-TX failed at 16:42 hours. Preliminary results show similar tissues degradation as previous tests. Am considering halting tissue reconstruction and attempting source material graphing as outlined by Doctor Favier."

"The good doctor's plan," Orona continued as he entered a lift car, "while very risky, could provide the answers that we are seeking, _and_ would be a great deal less dangerous than what our Imperial _friends_ have been experimenting with." He paused, then began speaking again, "Computer, strike last comment from record." _Can't be too careful where that Farrier character is concerned_, he thought with distaste.

_For all the well his experiments have been going_, he thought with some regret. _What a waste; three perfectly good graph candidates shot to hell with that abominable virus_.

Orona was convinced that the tissue rejection had something to do with the VISR virus interfering with proper tissue regeneration and neural bonding sequences. He was further convinced that if he could get his hands on either (A), an un-infected Hound, or (B), the sole remaining infected host, that his experiment would proceed apace. Since there were no known _living_ un-infected Hounds on Rhand the first option was moot. Furthermore, since he did not want to get within 100 kilometers of the other known enhanced Hound, the second was very unlikely.

"It is a pity we lost the third enhanced subject," he continued speaking into his recorder as the lift doors opened to the Q&C level, "even paralyzed she could have been put to some use…" _That_ matter was being kept quiet by the Imperial contingent. Who would have thought a NMR (No Motor Response) subject would just get up and walk away? The guard at the cell door swore wholeheartedly that NO ONE had entered or left the cell while he was there. Nothing on the surveillance computers, either. Farrier was still questioning his people about the escape.

Orona switch off the recorder and replaced it on this belt as he approached a door labeled "OFFICER'S MESS A-LEVEL". Just as he was about to enter the room—the scent of hot food making his mouth water—his PCD (Personal Communications Device) chirped at him indicating he had a priority communication on the SCAN Tac-Net. He turned away from the mess with regret, and headed in the direction of his office…

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_**Months later...**_

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Doctor Orona sat in contemplation as he stared fixedly through the Duraplas viewing window in his observation module. The object of his thoughts—a young woman—lay motionless within the confines of a complex medical processing vacuole. Months of labor, countless hours, and vast quantities of SCAN resources had finally resulted in success. The doctor's wan, pale features lifted in a slight smile at the pride he felt over his success.

Orona keyed in a short sequence on the monitoring equipment below the view port. Within the med-bay a scanner arm passed silently above the recumbent form, then retracted to its concealed storage socket. Technical med-data scrolled across the panel to the doctor's left, pulling his eyes briefly from his patient.

When the doctor returned his gaze to the subject, he discovered that the woman had awoken and was calmly returning his gaze. "Good morning Doctor Orona", she whispered slightly, the passive monitors amplifying her voice to the doctor's monitoring station.

"Good morning to you, Delta", the doctor replied warmly, having activated the audio circuit. "And how are you feeling this morning?"

The young woman paused, a glazed look clouding her eyes for a moment; "I am feeling no physical discomfort", she stated flatly, her eyes returning to focus. "According to internal monitors, my neural interface processors have only achieved a forty two percent match for auditory and visual systems. All other structural integration modules are at fifty five percent par and rising."

The stocky man drew a deep breath, flustered. "Yes, yes, yes. But how do you _feel_?" he asked stressing the last word.

"Feel, doctor?" the woman named Delta returned, a hint of puzzlement in her voice, "I assume your query implies a state of emotional awareness." Orona nodded, and she continued. "Given the level of emotional suppression programs I am under, I cannot accurately answer your query. I apologize for the inconvenience."

Orona's lips compressed in a slight frown, he stared at his lap, eyebrows beetling, "No matter, my dear, no matter. Everything is proceeding in excellent form." He then looked up smiling, "You are a one-of-a-kind treasure, Delta, and you are doing perfectly, just perfectly…"

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**End Notes:**

/Music - Duh, duh, Duuuuhhhhh...

And the mystery of 'Delta' begins. Much can be implied from Orona's ramblings. Hounds, viruses, infected subjects.

Next up, a bit of action.


	3. Chapter 3 - Delta Deployed

**A/N:** PartIII of the this batch was posted to the group 'after' the remnants of a battle (captured below) were discovered, analyzed, and conclusions were made. The 'story' filled in a bit of fiction for their enjoyment. Moving this over from the yahoo boards to consolidate things for the gang.

**Disclaimers: **I don't like diet coke. Nor do I own or make Deutsche Marks from anything written below. All liberties with tech and storyline are purely my own. It's not like Barry and the gang were exactly forthcoming on a lot of things.

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From her point of concealment on the 3rd floor of the wrecked building, Delta could see the Landmate, and its infantry support, carefully making their way down the rubble-strewn street. Air-dropped from grav transport on the far eastern side of the Airsubcon, they appeared—according to Delta's tactical analysis—to be making their way toward the air strip at the opposite side of Airsub 10. A Landmate led the way before the ten-strong infantry troop, its heavy tread registering on Delta's seismic receptors.

As the humanoid combat machine passed below her position Delta ran its profile through her combat recognition system, indexed for historical weapons; specifically the Colonial Wars. Almost instantaneously a ray-traced schematic overlaid her visual sensors, showing a technical diagram of the enemy walker: A Grael Type-K Landmate, Circa 2042. A brief analysis of the diagram showed its typical armaments to be a 20mm autocannon—carried in its massive grip—and two 5 mm anti-personnel gatling guns, one housed in each forearm. Its sensor suite would consist of LI/IR, MMW Radar, Thermal, and Enhanced Optical. No MAD. Delta's threat assessment sub-routine classified the Landmate as a factor 4 threat and the troops at factor 2.

Engaging her chameleon circuit Delta pivoted into the open window, raising the SSOPS heavy LASE machinegun in her left hand. Through the data link with the weapon's targeting module enemy target icons meshed instantly with her tactical array adjusting for range, speed, and target armour density. A two second burst and five troopers were going down as Delta dropped noiselessly from the 3rd floor onto the duracrete roadway, unharmed. Before the other troopers or the Landmate could respond, Delta rolled up into a kneeling position, switched her weapon to HI-UV, and fired another 2 second burst at the remaining troops. Three more soldiers began to tumble onto the roadway. Before they hit the ground their silent assassin was moving.

Less than ten seconds had passed since Delta opened fire at the squad.

The two remaining troopers, seeing their comrades felled by an unknown sniper, quickly sprinted into a storefront overhang as the Landmate turned and began firing its autocannon at the window from which its sensors had detected the original LASE fire to have originated from. Delta, of course, had predicted this. As the frightened soldiers rushed under the overhang, Death was waiting. The first fell, his throat crushed by a casual blow from Delta's  
right hand. The second, seeing his comrade fall, dropped quickly to the ground and rolled expertly out from under the overhang, yelling orders at the Landmate pilot over his subdermal com-link.

With a quickness belying its size, the Grael spun and fired its autocannon over the scrambling officer's head, HEAP rounds tearing into the storefront. Delta, however, was no longer there.

As the troop leader rose to stand next to the Landmate, he saw a slight blur move in, impossibly fast, behind the mechanoid construct. He responded quickly, snapping up his AR-8. The officer was a seasoned veteran, his reflexes fast and sure. He was not fast enough. Before the soldier could depress the firing stud, he watched in horror as the front half of his rifle fell away, severed cleanly just in front of the handgrip. He was still staring dumbly at the  
remaining portion of his weapon when he felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull.

Delta's chameleon circuit collapsed just as she stepped away from the falling officer, a small chemical dart embedded in his neck. The Landmate's pilot immediately saw the slight form of the woman as she appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Startled, the pilot swatted at the woman with the `Mate's massive left hand. With impossible alacrity the woman rolled under the monstrous blow, coming up directly in front of the Landmate. Surprised by the incredible speed of the woman, the pilot watched in stupefied fascination as the lithe enemy combatant whipped a slender cord around the `Mate's right wrist, severing the hand—and autocannon in the process—from its arm.

In a panic the pilot snapped open the gatling bay on the 'Mate's left hand, spraying a hundred rounds at the small figure before it. 5mm rounds spanged off the duracrete where Delta had just stood as she leaped up and over the wildly firing mech, somersaulting in the air before coming to land, on her feet, behind 3.5 meter tall machine. The pilot had only seen a blur.

Turing, Delta sprang again, this time onto the rear of the Landmate, the composite material of the machine's armour warping slightly where she gripped it. Delta raised her left hand in a fist, a shimmering distortion wrapping her hand as she struck the Landmate's armour. Where her fist struck, the armour cavitated, her hand disappearing into the machine, smashing its small MHD power supply. Quickly withdrawing her hand, Delta sprang clear of the mech as a small internal explosion rocked the Landmate.

With all primary and redundant systems failing, the pilot had no choice but to engage the unit's emergency release system. Triggering a series of small studs, the pilot waited anxiously as the Landmate crashed ponderously to its knees, the front clamshell of the pilot's vacuole splitting open. Scrambling out of the form-fitting compartment, the pilot, a young woman, popped open a small compartment in the side of her vehicle, withdrawing a fletchette pistol. Gun in hand, she turned quickly to run to shelter only to find herself face-to-face with her troop's attacker.

Startled, the pilot stood frozen as her foe stood motionless in front of her. The pilot saw a young, dark-haired woman dressed in a form-fitting dun colored material. The tight material of her attacker's clothing revealed an expert athlete's form, but certainly not the terrible monster that had wrecked her Landmate. Then her eyes met the other woman's and in that one terrible moment she felt her mind laid open to that of her foe. She crumpled, gun falling from nerveless fingers, unconscious to the ground.

Delta watched dispassionately as the pilot fell bonelessly to the ground at her feet. Her orders were simple: to exercise her more mundane combat skills against the enemy recon squad and to capture an enemy officer. Out of the humanoid combat machine its pilot was of little consequence; a small extension of her _will_, almost nothing really, and the woman was rendered harmless.

Turning aside from the unconscious pilot, Delta moved to the fallen officer. Her medical subsystems showed the officer to be in a near comatose state, all bio-readings were nominal, however. Almost casually the slight young woman hoisted the bulky man to her left shoulder. She then walked to her dropped LASE weapon, shouldered it on her right side, and began a quick trot up the street toward her extraction point, far outside the city.

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In a small room filled with electronics, three men sat, their features dimly illuminated by the glow of equipment's LEDs. The first man spoke, a slight accent trilling his speech, "Well, mes amis, that went rather well, no?"

The second man, Dr. Orona, looked at Favier hating to agree with his 'colleague'. Delta, after all, was _his_ project. "Yes you were right, Delta would seem to be a great success."

The third man's eyes rested in a dull, lifeless stare on the now-dark viewing monitor. He heard what the other two men had said, but paid them no mind as his mind churned, plans within plans. "Orona," the man with lifeless eyes said in a dry whisper.

Both of the other men turned to Farrier, their faces mirror images of fear and loathing. "Yes, Commander?" responded Orona a slight catch in his voice.

Niles Farrier stared at the middle-aged man for a few moments, making the good doctor sweat a bit. "When the prototype returns you will run a full neural scan. Look for any irregularities, beyond what you have already encountered." He paused then leaned forward, looking unblinkingly into Orona's eyes, "If there is any significant variance, you will perform a complete AI format on the prototype immediately. Do you understand, Doctor?"

Orona swallowed nervously, "Yes Commander, I understand." He would not argue with Farrier, even over Delta.

"Good," replied the gaunt intelligence agent standing up from his chair. He looked back over his shoulder, his hand poised near the access stud, "I would hate to have any misunderstandings…" He let the word hang, the silence in the room underscoring its meaning, then touched the door stud, exiting the room.

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**End Notes:**

LI/IR - Light Intensification / Infra-red

MMW - Micro Milimeter Wave, Rader

MAD - Magnetic Anomaly Detector

HI-UV - High Ultra-Violet - Undetectable to non-enhanced human visual range. However, reduced penetration is the trade-off.

Finally: Why is there a mid-21st century Landmate wandering about in 2349? Another short will follow with the explanation of how the Brutalympics and Leisurecycle Resorts made it happen. "From the South", forthcoming.


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